The Immortal Prince

by Jennifer Fallon

  I glanced across at Jaxyn with a frown. “Apparently.”

  “You don’t seem pleased to see him, Uncle Cayal.”

  “Oh, my!” Jaxyn chuckled. “I almost wish I was going to have a chance to watch this one grow up.”

  “Are you leaving, Uncle Jaxyn?” Fliss asked.

  “In a while.” He shrugged. “I’ve got things to do. In other places. But don’t be too upset, precious. I doubt your Uncle Cayal will miss me.”

  “Why?”

  “Fliss, are you actually capable of uttering a sentence that doesn’t start with ‘why’?”

  “I think so, Uncle Cayal. Why?”

  I rolled my eyes, but Jaxyn laughed and took her small hand in his. “Fliss, I think I’m really going to enjoy having you around until Uncle Cayal…takes care of you.”

  “Will you show me stuff, too, Uncle Jaxyn?”

  “Stuff?”

  “That’s Fliss’s all-encompassing word for the mysteries of Tide magic,” I explained.

  “I suppose I’d better show you something, Fliss. You’ll not learn much otherwise with Uncle Cayal as your instructor.”

  “Will you teach me Crasii magic? Uncle Cayal’s already promised to show me a Crasii farm, but I don’t think he wants to show me anything else.”

  “He has?” Jaxyn asked, looking over her head at me.

  “I thought Fliss might want to see how the Crasii are made before she decides she really wants to have anything to do with them.”

  “Does she really need to know, though?” he asked with an ingenuous smile. “I mean, given your…um…plans…for Fliss, do you even have the time for such a detour?”

  I glared at him, wondering if Jaxyn had invited himself along because Syrolee had sent him—which is what I’d first assumed—or if he was here because he was actually entertained by the idea Fliss was to be killed and wanted to be around to watch.

  We travelled south-west, avoiding Libeth and the inevitable pomp and ceremony that accompanied any of our kind appearing at the city gates. It was just on sunset when we reached the village of Marivale, located about halfway between Libeth and Lorenvale. A pall of wood smoke choked the air, trapped in the small stony hollow where the village was located on the very edge of the flax farms bordering the river. We could see warm yellow lamplight illuminating the crackled glass windows of the shops as we rode into the village.

  I dismounted in the paved courtyard of the village’s only inn. Fliss yawned, rubbing her eyes. The little girl had chattered happily to us for most of the afternoon, asking question after question about life in the world outside the palace, finally falling asleep slumped in my arms about an hour ago. I’d slowed our pace and held her while she slept, a remarkably paternal act that I never imagined myself capable of.

  “You’re planning to stay here tonight?” Jaxyn asked in surprise.

  “I don’t think Fliss is quite ready for a night in the open. Not at this time of year.”

  “Good plan,” Jaxyn agreed as he dismounted. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to risk our girl catching pneumonia and dying, would we? That’d be tragic.” Before I could respond, Jaxyn glanced around and added, “It’s going to cause a riot, you know, a couple of Tide Lords arriving in a village this size without warning, demanding rooms.”

  “Can’t be helped.” I shrugged.

  As Jaxyn predicted, the unannounced arrival of two Tide Lords in the small village precipitated something akin to a riot. We were well known in Tenacia, so within moments of our appearance, the courtyard was swarming with people, most of them prostrating themselves at our feet, gushing with the need to serve their gods’ every desire.

  Their devotion didn’t surprise me. The Tide had been up for several hundred years by then and Engarhod and Syrolee are very good at what they do. All mortals living in the shadow of the Emperor and Empress of the Five Realms reacted the same way to our kind. At least they did in Tenacia. Daresay with the Tide out as long as it has been this time, they’re left with little more than your wretched Tarot cards to remember us by, these days.

  “To serve you is the reason I breathe, my lord!” a woman blubbered, falling to her knees before me as I emerged from the inn after speaking with the owner. I stepped back before she could kiss my feet—that’s a really disgusting sensation, you know, having a perfect stranger slobber all over your feet. She was an older woman, the innkeeper’s wife, I guessed. In her wake several other young women pushed through the crowd, no doubt the daughters of the house. They fell to their knees beside their mother, too afraid to look us in the eye. Behind them were even more people, unwashed and uncivilised, all wanting to gape and grovel at the feet of their gods.

  Fliss pulled her cloak a little closer, clinging to Jaxyn for security in the face of the swarming humans who had increased in numbers so quickly I figured the whole village must be here by now. A few of them carried torches, their flickering light poking holes in the rapidly falling darkness. They looked more like a mob than a congregation.

  “Clear this place!” I ordered.

  The crowd hurried to comply until only the innkeeper’s wife and her daughters remained. The rest of them gathered in the street, straining to see what was happening inside the courtyard walls.

  “Are you deaf, woman?” I snapped at the prostrate mortal and her daughters.

  “My husband…this is his…our inn,” the older woman mumbled into the paving stones.

  “Then stand up, for the Tide’s sake!”

  The woman scrambled to her feet, followed by her three daughters. They ranged in age from about fifteen to the eldest, who looked to be about twenty. She was a pretty girl with wavy dark hair and clear blue eyes lined with thick dark lashes.

  “You! What’s your name?” I asked her.

  “Amaleta, my lord,” she replied, blushing crimson at being singled out. She was nervous, but I could sense no fear in her—unlike her mother and sisters, who radiated their terror like an open fire.

  “This is Fliss, favourite of Syrolee, Empress of the Five Realms. You will take care of her.”

  Fliss glanced up at me in confusion. “Am I Syrolee’s favourite, Uncle Cayal?”

  “You are tonight, Fliss.”

  She accepted that and turned to Amaleta. “Can you show me where the latrines are? I’m busting.”

  I bit back a smile as Amaleta shyly approached the little girl and held out her hand. “Come with me, my lady. They’re not the golden ones you’re used to, I’ll be bound, but I reckon they’ll do the trick.”

  The call of nature overriding any other concerns the child had about being handed into the care of a complete stranger, Fliss let Amaleta lead her into the inn. Relieved of that responsibility, I turned my attention back to the innkeeper’s wife.

  “Our horses require food and stabling.”

  Expecting nothing less than her blind obedience to my orders—I might find being worshipped irritating, but that doesn’t meant it isn’t useful at times—I turned on my heel leaving the woman staring nervously after us and headed in the direction that Fliss and Amaleta had disappeared.

  Jaxyn was one step ahead of me. I found him inside, warming his hands at an iron brazier of glowing coals where it was obvious he’d already ordered our dinner. The younger daughters of the house were hurriedly laying out our meal on the table set up between the couches, glancing fearfully over their shoulders at us watching them work.

  The inn was quite grand for such a small village. Built in a poor imitation of Magrethan architecture, it was constructed of the local grey stone, its windowless walls offering protection from the outside world. There was a small and rather paltry atrium in the centre of the building with a broken fountain. Surrounding the atrium were a number of small alcoves, as I recall, the sort you find in far more salubrious establishments, offering couches and low tables for patrons to relax and drink their dark warm Tenacian beer, which I have always thought tastes much the same as horse piss would taste. I guess the tavern had been hastily emptie
d of all its mortal patrons to make way for us.

  “Where’s Fliss?” Jaxyn asked, as I came to stand beside him.

  “Answering the call of nature.”

  Jaxyn seemed amused. “I’ll bet you never thought of that. In fact, you don’t seem to have thought about much at all, regarding this child. What in the name of the Tides possessed you to take her from the palace? Couldn’t bring yourself to do the job with an audience? Or did you plan to have a little fun with her before you finish her off and were afraid that Arryl might object?”

  I shook my head in wonder. There is no limit to the perversions Jaxyn can imagine. “Were you this sick before you were immortal, Jaxyn, or is it something you’ve been working on since then?”

  “Bit of both,” he replied cheerfully, not in the least bit offended. “What are you going to do with this wretched child? Even if you’re merely planning to make her last few days moderately pleasant ones, what do you know of children? You have no servants to care for her. Are you planning to look after her yourself?”

  “I’ll work something out,” I assured him. The plan had been to get Fliss to the coast where Arryl would meet us. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen now—not with Jaxyn in our company. And much as it irked me to admit it, he was right. I knew nothing about children. Still don’t know much. Despite my boast that eventually we get good at everything, that’s one area of responsibility I’ve deftly managed to avoid for the past eight thousand years.

  “You need to do something now, Cayal.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I suggest you do what you promised Syrolee you’d do, and put an end to her. Failing that, find her a nurse. A human one if you must, given your apparent aversion to Crasii.”

  “You might have made this brilliant suggestion while we were in Libeth. We could have visited the slave markets before we left.”

  “Had I realised you weren’t planning to do the job immediately, I would have.”

  “Then I’ll find someone else to look after her.”

  “Well, whatever you do, do it soon, Cayal. Neither you or I know anything about the care of little girls.”

  “Which brings me to another problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Who invited you along anyway?”

  Before Jaxyn could answer, Fliss skipped into the room with Amaleta close behind her. She headed straight for the table and stared at the food doubtfully.

  “Is it safe to eat, Uncle Cayal?” she asked.

  “I’m quite sure it’s perfectly safe,” I assured her.

  Satisfied that she wasn’t about to be poisoned, Fliss began piling her plate with all the enthusiasm of a famished six-year-old. Amaleta coughed politely and then dropped into a deep curtsey when we turned to her.

  “Will that be all, my lords?”

  “You live here?” Jaxyn asked, eyeing the young woman curiously. She wasn’t that tall, but her skin was very fair against long dark hair tied back in a loose braid. What I remember about her most is her eyes. They were dark…the colour of late twilight…

  “My parents own this inn, my lord,” I think she must have replied…or something along those lines. I was too entranced by those eyes to pay much attention to what she was saying.

  “Would you like a job, Amaleta?”

  That question put an abrupt end to my idle musings.

  “My lord?” she gasped, almost as shocked as I was by Jaxyn’s suggestion.

  My companion laughed softly. “A job. You know—paid employment. My good friend here needs a nurse to take care of his charge.”

  Amaleta fell to her knees, lowering her head with humble gratitude. “To serve you is the reason I breathe, my lord. If my gods wish me to serve them, then of course, I cannot refuse…”

  “Oh, get up!” I ordered impatiently, glowering at Jaxyn.

  “I don’t think he wants your adoration,” Jaxyn told her, grinning at me as if he found my irritation amusing. “I believe he’s rather more interested in knowing if you’re capable of caring for Fliss.”

  “I think she’s nice,” Fliss offered through a mouthful of apple from across the room.

  “There!” Jaxyn announced. “What better recommendation could we ask for? Well, do you want the job or not?”

  Amaleta stared at us, clearly confused. “You mean…you’d pay me?”

  “Unless they’ve redefined the nature of employment recently, then yes, Lord Cayal will pay you. I suppose he’ll have to compensate your parents for the inconvenience, too, but that shouldn’t be a problem. He’s a Tide Lord. He can afford it.”

  “This is too great an honour, my lord!”

  “I doubt you’ll think so in a few days’ time, Amaleta. Fliss can be quite a handful, and Cayal’s a right pain in the arse. Do you want the job or not?”

  “Jaxyn!” I objected. “I think we should—”

  “Indeed!” Jaxyn agreed before I could finish. “I think we should too, but seeing as how you appear to be too gutless to do the job without working yourself up to it, we’re going to need a nurse in the meantime. Well, Amaleta? What’s your answer?”

  “I couldn’t possibly refuse such an offer!”

  “Then get off your damned knees and go tell your parents you’ll be leaving with us in the morning. And send your father in. Lord Cayal will need to arrange to purchase another horse. I’m sure he doesn’t plan to dawdle at a walk all the way to wherever it is we’re going because you’re traipsing along behind us on foot. Can you ride?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Amaleta assured him, scrambling to her feet.

  Jaxyn beamed at me. “See! Already she’s proving her worth. Off you go then, girl.”

  Amaleta fled the room, leaving me glaring at Jaxyn. “You just hired some girl you know nothing about who’s probably never been more than five miles from her village.”

  Jaxyn shrugged. “I’m making do. Of course, if you were planning to do what you promised you’d do anytime soon, a nanny for your little friend over there wouldn’t really be necessary, would it?”

  There was no answer to that…or if there was, I couldn’t think of one. So I said nothing, irked to realise I was left with no other course but to play along with Jaxyn, pretend I was still planning to murder Fliss and drag Amaleta into a drama that would end up costing her far more than she would ever earn as the servant of a Tide Lord.

  Chapter 51

  His stomach rumbling with hunger woke Warlock the next morning. Curled on a scrap of fur loaned to him by Boots, he shivered and pushed himself up stiffly, glancing around the Kennel. In daylight it fared even worse than it had by firelight. The building was shabby, the high rafters draped with age-old cobwebs thick with dust, most of the light coming through cracks in the walls where the boards had slipped off as the nails rusted away. The warehouse was all but empty now, only a few females, mostly the mothers of young pups, still hanging around.

  Warlock climbed to his feet, wondering where the nearest exit was. By the smell of this place, he could tell that soiling one’s sleeping place was frowned upon, which relieved him a great deal. After Boots telling him it was common for the strays to hunt food in the city’s garbage, he’d feared the worst. But Rex kept a surprisingly tidy Kennel, all things considered, and when one of the females from the leader’s pack noticed he was awake, she jerked her head toward the right, guessing what he was looking for. He followed the direction she was indicating and spied a small door. With a nod of thanks, he hurried outside and discovered proper latrines had been dug against the fence in the small yard at the back of the warehouse.

  “We’re not animals, you know,” Boots remarked as he emerged from the small cubicle, which didn’t have a door, but rather a sack hanging across the entrance to provide some semblance of privacy.

  “I never said you were.”

  “But you have that look,” she accused. “I think you’re a bit of a snob, Warlock, out of Bella, by Segura.”

  Warlock frowned. He’d never thought o
f himself that way. But then, he’d never been in a situation like this before, either. “I…I just never saw myself living like this.”

  “What? Free?”

  “I was going to say unemployed.”

  She smiled, and stepped a little closer. Not even the smell of the latrines could mask her scent. If it had been hard to concentrate yesterday when she was nearby, today it was damned near impossible. Any day now, he knew, perhaps any hour, she would be fully in heat and would finally choose a mate. Only good manners and a heroic amount of self-control stopped Warlock from throwing himself at her this very moment and begging her to choose him as her partner.

  “Unemployed, eh?” she chuckled. “Never heard freedom referred to like that before.”

  He might desire this female more than air at this moment, but that didn’t give her the right to mock him. “You say you grew up at Lebec Palace. You surely can’t be happy living like this? Rummaging through garbage to eat? Sleeping in a den with dozens of different packs and no idea what their pedigree is…”

  “I was right, you really are a snob.”

  “I’m concerned for you.”

  “You needn’t be,” she assured him. “I can look after myself.”

  “If that’s what you call living like this.”

  “Come see me when you haven’t eaten for a week,” she suggested. “You might find your opinion somewhat less inflexible. In the meantime, you’ve gotten lucky.”

  “Lucky how?”

  “Shalimar wants to see you,” she said. “He’ll feed us when we get there.”

  “Normally, we’d wait awhile before bringing you here,” Shalimar informed Warlock as they sat down to the largest breakfast he’d seen since leaving Lord Ordry’s estate. “But given your news about the Immortal Prince, I deemed it worth the risk.”

  Shalimar was human, which surprised Warlock. He’d been expecting a Crasii at the very least, and probably a canine at that. He wasn’t expecting this sprightly old man with bright, pale eyes that seemed oddly out of place against his dusky skin. Warlock couldn’t tell what race he was or place his accent, which bothered him a little, but he seemed happy enough to welcome them into his cluttered little apartment, and lay on a feast that distracted Warlock almost enough to make him forget the scent his companion was giving off.